Origins
by Maddeline Bonnefoy-Kirkland
Summary: - The life of one Iscariot Assassin before the events we know of; before she met her partner and her boss; before she became one of the "cohorts of the cloth." What was her life like, and how did it come to change so drastically? - Warnings inside.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Hellsing_, Kouta Hirano does.**

**Okay, another Hellsing Ultimate-based story... Only this time, as mentioned in my Author's Note at the bottom, it's basically a "What If" kind of universe, set on today's time. In all honesty, I'm not even sure myself where this is set - I didn't really think too much when I started typing - but I'm going to say, for the sake of those that like to know that kind of thing, that's set somewhere in America. Just... Don't quote me on that, okay? 'Cause like I said, I really don't even know myself. For once, not dedicated to anyone, but inspired by the fact that there was a Hellsing panel at AnimeVegas 2011, I was cosplaying Heinkel, and the fact that my imagination is ADHD. Other than that...**

**WARNINGS FOR THE FICTION AS A WHOLE: Swearing, mentions of eating disorders/cutting, occasional racial/religious/sexual orientation slurs/hate, blood/gore/badly-written fight scenes/yuri/mentioned rape in later chapters, use of other languages besides English, hardly-understandable accents, and ideas that should have really remained inside my head.**

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Slight cussing, slight hate of other cultures/languages, and a LOT of spoken German. 9I've explained the gist of what is said, since providing translations just clutters things up, but if anyone doesn't get what's being said, shoot me a PM and I'll clarify.)**

**If ANY of this doesn't sit well with you, please don't read this just to flame; I deal with enough idiots like that in my daily life, so I don't need you online as well.**

**We all on the same page now? Okay, good. On with the story.**

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><p>"Heinkel, steh auf, oder du bist zu spät!"<p>

A groan came from the pile of blankets, as a skinny, pale hand twitched out from under all three blankets. The digits of the hand were long and thin, almost boney; the skin was pale enough so that the veins could be seen through it, and the nails looked almost purplish-blue. The hand gripped the clock on the nightstand, and all but yanked it out of the wall as it was pulled back under the blankets almost completely. Another groan was issued; this happened every morning. It was, in truth, according to the red LED numbers on the clock, only 7:00AM. As the 7:30 – 8:00 first period was all but non-existent, school didn't start until 8:00AM.

Be that as it would, sleep was just a faint memory by this time. The shout of the mother was repeated, as the clock was placed back onto the nightstand. Moments later, the blankets – a throw blanket on the bottom, a comforter in the middle, and a tie blanket on top – were thrown off of the person in question. This revealed a shorts–and–t-shirt–clad personage, of what appeared to be seventeen years of age. One of the same boney hands was run through short-cropped sandy-blonde hair, as the sapphire-eyed teen uncurled themselves and sat up. Letting pale legs, which were thin, and yet wiry, hang over the side of the bed, the blonde stood and stretched.

A shiver passed through the tall, lanky frame, as the teen made their way to the door of the bedroom. A turn of the handle and a tug opened the door, and allowed light to pierce the gloom of the bedroom. Sapphire eyes snapped shut, as a soft hiss escaped the blonde. Eyes still clamped defiantly closed, the tall teen headed for the bathroom. If the way the pajamas worn smelled was any indication, a shower was needed. Small feet made equally small padding noises, upon the wood floor, and then upon the tile, as the tall blue-eyed teen entered the bathroom. The light had been left on, and a glimpse of what appeared to be a leather cord around the blonde's neck was offered, before the light was shut off once more.

Shutting the door, the teen stood in darkness for a moment. When the moment had elapsed, memory dictated where the nightlight on the wall was located, and so it was switched on. Sapphire eyes opened slowly then, and blinked a few times to get used to the dim, slightly orange-tinted light now filling the room with its soft glow and shadow. Reaching behind, the door was locked, before the blonde proceeded to remove their pajamas. The shorts were removed fist; strong, yet skinny legs were exposed to the light, along with what might be called bony hips. The t-shirt followed suit. Small, easily concealed breasts were revealed to the world, along with a slim, yet curve-less waist. The shadow of ribs showed almost eerily in the dim light. Wiry arms scooped the clothes from the floor, and tossed them into the hamper.

Broad, yet slightly bony shoulders traced a line above slightly stark collar bones. A neck of lean muscle but little flesh was encircled by what appeared to be a leather cord. Rather, it was a necklace. At the end of the cord, hung a slightly large, silver cross. Laying just between her small breasts – for this was rather obviously a woman – it glinted almost ominously in the glow of the nightlight. Not leaving more time for the examining of her body, as she was neither vain nor truly cared much about her appearance, she gave a quick once over to her face, before moving to turn on the shower.

Slightly thin, but still of a strong jaw and good character, her face was and had often been described as plain. Her mouth was small, and rarely did her lips see a smile, though were often enough quirked in a smirk of amusement or a sneer of some other, more negative emotion. The nose perched above it was small and straight, completely unassuming and hardly anything to make an impression or stick in one's memory. Slightly almond-shaped, her sapphire blue eyes were deep, but still slightly clouded by sleep. These eyes were hardly seen, as her extremely light-sensitive vision demanded that she wear dark, prescription glasses almost all the time. He cheek bones were high, and slightly pronounced, but not in any sort of haughty way. Her cheeks very rarely held any sort of color to them, save when it was cold and the distance between her classes necessitated her running from one to the other to make the bell. In all, it was as previously stated, a very plain, unassuming face. It was not, at first glance, feminine or masculine in any way, and so left no impression in the minds of any but those few whom she worked to befriend.

Scrutiny finished, the blonde turned away from the mirror, already disgusted with looking at herself long enough to conclude all of this. She was not a narcissistic person; she used the looking glass only to make sure her hair wasn't flying everywhere, and to ensure that she didn't look half dead. Otherwise, she avoided the reflective surface on principle. Moving to the shower, she pulled open the door and turned the knobs. Once she was sure both hot and cold were correctly rotated, she simply waited for the water to heat to the right temperature. As soon as the correct degree was achieved, she stepped in, and pulled the metal-framed-glass door shut behind her.

Once in, he shower didn't take too long, as he hair was short enough that it didn't need to be washed very thoroughly to get it clean. Scrubbing her body, she mentally went over the homework she had done the night before. Yes, her Algebra II homework was finished, as was the English report on the Scarlett Letter she had needed to revise and turn in this morning. Her history essay was finished, and she hadn't really bothered to type it up, since that wasn't needed. The German homework had been very easy, though some of the grammar still stuck her in a few places, and thus took a bit longer to figure out, but it was finished. Satisfied that both her homework was in good order and the grime of the past few days had been washed from her body, the pale teen turned off the shower and stepped out.

Taking a few moments to marginally dry her hair – short as it was, it dried quickly on its own – she then grabbed a second, slightly larger towel from the rack. Quickly drying herself off, she re-hung both towels so that they could dry correctly, and then moved to the door. Flicking off the nightlight out of pure habit, something her siblings seemed not to share, she unlocked the door and opened it. This time out of defense rather than habit, another motion was put into practice: her eyes quickly shut, and she moved down the hall to her room out of memory rather than sight. Had she opened her eyes, she would have been assaulted by both blinding light and excruciating pain – along with colored dots and blotches that wouldn't leave her eyes for hours afterward. Wanting to avoid all three, she kept her eyes closed. Once back in her room, with the door shut behind herself, she opened her eyes once more.

Moving swiftly over to her dresser, a quickly cast glance at her clock registered that it was now 7:30, the blonde opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers and a sports bra. Attired in her undergarments, and made to look all but completely flat due to the tightness of the sports bra, she headed for her closet. Opening the door, she pulled out a white button down dress shirt, which she quickly put on. Knee-high trouser socks, black dress pants, and black dress shoes followed suit. Stepping into the modestly-sized closet, she snatched up the maroon tie from the small shelf set into the back wall, along with a leather belt. Threading the belt through the loops on the trousers, she buckled it, and then did up her tie on autopilot, her fingers working nimbly and quickly, but methodically as well.

Exiting her closet, she shut the door behind herself. A glance in the mirror over her dresser confirmed that nothing was out of place, such as perhaps her cross wasn't under her shirt as it was supposed to be, before she moved to her desk. Taking hold of the strap of her messenger bag, the six-foot blonde slung it over her shoulder, and then pushed the chair back in. Before leaving her room to head downstairs for breakfast, she stopped off at her nightstand once more. As her hand grasped her folded glasses, her gaze slipped to the clock. 7:40; she had twenty minutes to get to school on time. Taking up her glasses, she moved towards the door of her room, unfolding them as she went.

Simultaneously, she opened the door and slipped the frames onto her face, settling them at the bridge of her nose just as the first true light of day greeted her sight. Stepping out of her room, she headed down the hall, though this time passing by the bathroom and continuing towards the stairs. Descending them, she could hear the sounds of her youngest sister, Maria's, early-morning cartoons. Rolling her eyes slightly, the blonde bit back the comment which was burning the back of her throat as she passed the doorway to the living room. The middle sister, Renee, she noted upon entering the kitchen, was already seated at the table and finishing her breakfast.

"Guten Morgen, Mutter, Renee." Speaking for the first time to bid her mother and sister a good morning, the tall girl's voice was a slightly feminine alto, and seemed to hold but little emotion. Her sister said nothing, but her mother returned the greeting, before leaving to attend to the youngest of the sisters, as the sapphire-eyed seventeen-year-old fixed herself breakfast. A piece of toast, and a cup of black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar, as usual, and also as usual, Renee wrinkled her nose at the plain, almost meager fair. The elder of the two sisters merely raised her brows over the rim of her coffee cup at the younger, waiting for the expected words.

"How can you eat that, and so little?" In English, as she refused to speak German, Renee questioned her sister's ability to take in what she did.

"Du weißt, ich bin nicht sehr hungrig in den Morgen, und außerdem isst nicht jeder so viel wie du, kleine schwester." Her remark was placid, as this was the usual song and dance for the two of them. As always, she mentioned how she was never very hungry in the mornings, and how not everyone ate as much as Renee – with her full, already almost voluptuous figure at thirteen – did. Calling her little sister was just a soft jab, as was normal for the two, though the truly heated insults would come later, should they get into an argument after school.

"Whatever, _Heinkel_ – at least I don't have some dumb German name, and I'm not always dressing like a dyke!" Though it was obvious she could understand it perfectly, the younger simply refused, point blank, to speak even one syllable of German.

The blonde was taken aback by her sister's vehemence. She was never this bad tempered in the morning; usually it was the older of the two that had a hard time with mornings. Not only that, but Renee had never before been to outright condemning of her older sister before. Yes, she had made gently barbed comments here and there about Heinkel's dressing style, but usually there was no bite behind them. Often, she would even apologize for harsh words she may have used when they fought. Searching her younger sister's brown eyes, the older found nothing even remotely akin to regret for her words in Renee's gaze.

Still, the sapphire-eyed of the two resolved to not get angry this time; it was _far_ too early to be wasting energy on a fight, after all. A few moments elapsed in silence, with the brunette of the sisters all but glaring, and Heinkel simply finishing her toast and coffee. Getting up from the table when she had finished, the taller sister moved to the sink and rinsed out her cup, before placing it in the dishwasher. Their mother, who was now keeping Maria occupied for a bit, would run a full load of dishes later. Coming back to the table, the blue-eyed sister took her uniform blazer from the back of her chair, and put it on. She made no comment, yet, to Renee.

Slipping into the downstairs bathroom, which was located off of the kitchen, Heinkel ran a brush through her hair to tame it, and then brushed her teeth. This done, she exited the bathroom and retrieved her school bag from where she had set it on the floor beside her chair. Grabbing her car keys from the counter, she paused before leaving the kitchen, finally responding to her sister's words.

"Du bist was du bist, und ich bin was ich bin. Achten Sie darauf, was du sagst und zu wem, kleine Schwester, denn wenn man die Samen der Bitterkeit zu säen, werden Sie nur Bitterkeit im Gegenzug zu ernten. Beachten Sie, dass." She didn't meant to be cruel, in telling her sister to be careful with what she said, but it was the truth; if one were to sow the seeds of bitterness, they would only receive bitterness in return. As to Renee's being was what she was, and Heinkel's being as she was… It was just meant as, 'let it go, and look to your own affairs before looking to mine.' The blonde knew it really wasn't her place to chastise – and this was heightened by her sister's retort of, "You're not my mother, you can't tell me what to do!" – but she had felt that it must be said.

A glance at the hall clock, however, had all thoughts of her sister flung from her mind. As it was 7:50, she only had fifteen minutes to get to school before the bell for class rang. (She had fifteen only because of the five-minute passing periods between classes; otherwise, she had only ten.) Calling a good-bye to her mother on the way out, the tall teen rushed out the door and to her car. Quickly getting in and starting the silver BMW convertible (she had the top up, as it was supposed to be cold today), Heinkel buckled herself in and drove off. As it was early, few people were on the streets en-route to the city's most prestigious private high school, which shortened the time it took to arrive at school.

And still, the blonde only dropped into her seat in her second-hour, second-floor Junior English Literature class with moments to spare before the bell rang.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking – "She's starting _another_ story? What, is she crazy? She still hasn't finished the others!" Rest assured, I WILL get around to the others… Once Evelyn and I come up with a plot for _Reincarnation Troubles_, she sends me Part IV of _A Fine Line_, and my muse comes back for _Most Powerful Emotion_. As to this little monstrosity, I couldn't help wondering about a certain Iscariot cross-dressed nun's past, and how she came to be what she is. I know there is a picture of little Heinkel, Enrico, and Yumiko standing in front of Anderson, but… I wondered, if that picture hadn't taken place, nor whatever events led up to it, what would Heinkel's life have been like before Iscariot? And so, setting things in present-day, this was born.

Now, to cease my ramblings, review, please? As I've said before, however, this plea only applies if I still have readers…

Until next time,

~Haruka.


	2. Part II

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:Mentions of fanatic/zealous religious views, general discrimination based on nationality/religion/sexual orientation, mild lesbian desire, Heinkel's accent (it's rather hard to understand, I apologize...) and more German, but not nearly as much as in the first chapter.**

**Disclaimer can be found in the first chapter, as well as the warnings for the story as a whole.**

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><p>As the sound of the bell died down, the teacher stood from where she had been seated. "Firstly, please pass forward your reports," the shapely blonde, student teacher spoke, as she made her way along the front row of desks. As she went, she collected the stack of reports from each column of desks. "Once everything has been collected, we will begin the test." When most of the students responded with groans of, 'Ms. Shirts, really?' she simply said that if they didn't want to write an analytical essay, they would stop complaining. Like magic, the murmured complaints were stopped, and the tests were handed out.<p>

Quickly writing her name at the top of the test in the space provided, followed by the date and class number, Heinkel set to work. The format of the test was standard, really. It contained twenty-five multiple choice questions (five defining terms, ten fill-in-the-blank, and ten A, B, C, or D questions), ten short-essay answer questions (no less than one paragraph, no more than three), and three essay questions (no less than five paragraphs, more accepted). Two of the essay questions were mandatory; the third was extra credit. As the test was standard, the sapphire-eyed blonde used her standard test-taking method. She breezed through the multiple choice, and wrote furiously on the short-essay questions (her slightly scrawled cursive raced across the page like the frightened children fled Sodom and Gomorra).

Running out of time… A quick glance at the clock on the wall confirmed her thoughts. She had twenty minutes left. Refocusing on the test, she made sure her concentration wasn't broken for too long. As always tended to happen, when she was writing essays, a bit of her rather… Zealous views in religion were incorporated. She didn't notice this, of course, but it happened anyways. Finishing her essays – yes, all three of them, and all with at least seven paragraphs – she placed the pen down and worked at the kinks and cramps in her hands. Ambidextrous as she was, she had switched hands during the test, and so wouldn't be suffering from the debilitating states of pain her predominantly right- or left-handed classmates would. Where religious issues were concerned, however, there was another difference between her classmates. Mormons, the lot of them were, as were her family – and that was why she needed to defend her faith every hour of the day.

Heathens and heretics, all of them, a small part of her mind stipulated, and though she couldn't help agreeing, she would rather have saved her family than not. However, as she had been trying for years now with no result other than screaming fights, she had given them up for lost to a longer tenure in Purgatory than even her own would be. Her thoughts were broken by the bell, at which she stood and packed away her things. Placing binder and pencil case into her bag, she slung it over her shoulder, and then left the classroom without even so much as a backward glance. She had left her test on the desk; Ms. Shirts knew her well enough by now to know that she wouldn't be personally handing it in, as she saw no need for that. Her work ended with the bell; if the student teacher didn't know her thoughts ran so by now, she had a good deal to learn about this teenager.

As she maneuvered the halls, she forced herself not to watch the other, skirt-clad girls as they sauntered past, chatting, giggling, and gossiping about some frippery or other. Beautiful, fickle-y transparent creatures they were, and though something within her yearned for them, she knew that to have one – any – of them would be the blackest sin she had yet to commit. Shoving the unneeded, tempting thoughts of those fey creatures from her mind, Heinkel slipped into her third hour class, Business and Computer Applications.

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><p>The bell rang for fourth hour sooner than expected, but still she stood, packed her things away, shut down the computer she had been working at, and then left the classroom, adjusting the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder as she did so. As it had been for the past better part of a week, the class had been working with Microsoft Office Excel 2007. As usual, her A grade demonstrated her competence in working with such programs as Microsoft Office Word, Microsoft Office PowerPoint, and Excel itself. Again removing the sinful, prideful thoughts from her mind, she wove her way through the teeming, seething mass, much akin to the sea, her school-mates made in the halls.<p>

Arriving at her fourth hour, Algebra II, the tall, cross-dressed teen moved to her desk. Getting out her things and seating herself, she turned her attention to the rather heavy-set boy whom claimed the seat beside her own. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she voiced her greeting. As per usual, nothing even close to a smile was going to make itself known upon her lips. Heinkel usually didn't express emotion, and so even if it were but a smirk or a sneer, the few friends she had – if she could really call them that, since they were precarious enough to turn on her at any moment – knew to take whatever they could get when it came to her and what emotion she would or wouldn't express.

"Hallo, Josh." He was in her German II class, so he would know what she was saying. If he didn't… Well, she just hoped he really wasn't more stupid than she had initially thought. "Wie geht es Ihnen?" It was only polite to ask how someone was doing, after all, and the formal usage of 'you' should have been indication enough that the blonde really _didn't_ have friends.

"Es geht mir gut, und dich, Heinkel?" He replied in kind, his soft voice just slightly halting on the word order. She nodded in indication that he had gotten it right, but shrugged in response to the question itself all the same. She was doing alright, but didn't really think it was worth mentioning, at this point.

In any event, class began a few moments later.

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><p>As the bell rang for lunch, Heinkel placed her things into her messenger bag once more. Mentally going over her homework as she exited the classroom, with nothing more than a wave to Josh, she concluded that she only had math homework to complete. They were never given homework after a test – as had happened in English – and some classes only gave homework once in a blue moon, as happened with her Business and Computer Apps class, so, logically speaking, that meant she only had homework from Ms. Somsen. Thank God for that; she may have liked school and especially liked getting her A's – there went her prideful thoughts again – but she really didn't like homework. Well, sometimes she did, but today seemed to be one of the days where she didn't like it.<p>

Shaking the unneeded and really rather pointless thoughts from her mind, the tall girl arrived at her locker. Heinkel listened idly to the conversation, or rather conversations, taking place around her. Most students congregated by one locker or another, while others headed for and remained in the cafeteria itself, and still others got their lunches – school-provided or otherwise – and headed for the expanse of the school grounds. Currently, she found herself listening to the chitter-chatter of a group of Freshman girls, mixed in with the general, low cacophony of the students whom traversed the halls aimlessly during the lunch hour. Exchanging her English, Business and Computer Apps, and Algebra II textbooks and binders – the math homework was only a worksheet, so she kept that binder – for her History, German II, and Poetry textbooks and binders, she shut her locker. Slinging the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder once more, she headed for the stairs to the roof. She was stopped halfway up, however.

"Hey, dyke, we'd like a word with you."

Now _this_ was something she was used to. This was something she could take care of herself. This was something that didn't throw her off balance any more, not like her sister's usage of the same term this morning had. This was a scene that had been playing out for a very long time now. This, however, was also when her darker side came out to play.

"A vord?" The timber of her voice remained the same; however English replaced German as the spoken language, and her accent came actuely audible and coarse. She echoed the 'request' made to her, half turning to regard the group whom addressed her as she did so. There was more than one; _of course_ there was more than one. There was _always_ more than one. The group of boys, seniors by the look of them, was about ten strong. She could take them, she concluded, her dark glasses flashing ominously. She could take them, and take them easily, but not here.

Turning once more to resume her way up the stairs, she continued to speak. Her accent had thickened slightly, but it was nowhere near as overbearing as it could be when she was angry. And that, was something no-one ever wanted to see – rather, something no-one ever wanted to hear. Hearing that, would often mean trouble of the worst kind was ahead. When she was angry, she would often degrade into rage-fueled, German-spoken Biblical rants. When she was angry, physical, property, and at times even collateral damage ensued. So yes, her anger was something that most should want to avoid. She was usually very good at controlling her temper, but as she was human, she did have days in which she just couldn't take it anymore and snapped. She prayed that today wasn't one of those days; she really didn't want to end up in Juvenile Detention for killing any of these idiots…

"You vant a vord, you say? Alright, but not here – it ist too close ov qvarters for a conversation, don't you zink?" In all honestly, she didn't give a damn what they thought, heathens that they were. Resuming her route she ascended the last few steps, opened the door, and exited out onto the roof.

Setting her bag onto one of the stone benches, Heinkel opened a side pocket and withdrew a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Placing a cigarette between her lips, she lit it casually, before putting the pack and lighter away again. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she regarded the boys coolly as they surrounded her. She noted that the door to the roof had been shut – they didn't intend to be interrupted. Good. That would make what she needed to do much easier. Silently murmuring a prayer in her mind, both for what she was about to do, and for strength enough to keep her anger from snapping and taking her over. That said, however, regardless of what happened here she resolved to head to Confession at the soonest after school opportunity (she wasn't allowed to go if her parents knew, though that was neither here nor there at the moment).

"So." She twitched the cigarette as she spoke, so that the ash fell from the end. As she had been smoking for about a year now, she thought nothing of it. It just made her that much more intimidating, or so she had heard, and that suited her just fine. If it kept idiots like these away – rather, the few who actually possessed a few brain cells and the capacity to make them function, though she knew it was asking a bit much of them – then she was glad of it. "Tell me, vhat do you really vant ov me?" Though it may have been phrased as a question, it was not. It was an order.

"Heh, right to the point, I see. You never miss a beat do you, Catholic?" One of the boys sneered, looking at her with nothing short of contempt as he posed the sarcastic question. She knew that, had they been able to see her eyes, the exact same would have been glinting from their frigid sapphire depths.

He was the leader, she noted. He was tall and broad shouldered, easily equaling her in height and surpassing her in weight by a good deal; he was captain of the football team, if memory served her correctly. He had been one of her main antagonists for about two years now, but she had never really bothered to know much about him. She didn't care, in all honesty; things had started with his trying to hit on her when she was a Freshman, and her punching his lights out when he didn't seem to understand that 'no' meant 'no,' and that 'lesbian' meant that she was attracted to women, not men. For now, however, she simply regarded him all but emotionlessly, as she waited for him to continue talking. Self-important men like him liked to hear themselves talk, she knew that from their previous encounters.

"We," the group was indicated, "think that you've been getting a bit too comfortable around here… Think it's about time someone needed to teach you your place, you German bitch."

"'Mein place'?" She repeated his words, sneering now as well. "You, you heathen dogs, vant to teach me mein place?" Without giving them so much as moment to respond, she continued speaking. Her blood boiled at such insolence, and her slowly thickening accent was the only indication that she was slowly losing her grip on her anger. It seemed God had not wanted to hear her prayers today. "Und really, 'German bitch'? 'Dyke'? '_Catholic_'? Zat's ze best you've got? I haff heard vorse from mein zirteen year old sister! If you really vant to insult me, to hurt mein feelings, mein _pride_, come up vith better slurs. Ozervise, you're no better zan ein kliener Mädchen!" That seemed to be the last straw of the boys' patience, even if she doubted they knew what she had said, considering that she was now fully snarling her words in German. They all converged upon her then. But her anger was building now, and she wanted to make someone hurt.

Little did those boys know, they didn't stand even a snowball's chance in Hell against Heinkel when she got truly angry.

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><p>She finished her cigarette, as the bell went for fifth hour, her expression unreadable once more. Picking up her bag after tossing the dead cigarette into a trashcan, the blonde pulled the strap over her shoulder. She didn't look back, as she made her way to the door which led back down into the school. She didn't look behind her, to see the boys, most of them unconscious, and all laying sprawled where she had left them. Some were bleeding, others had more bruises than face left, and still others had even sustained broken bones or a concussion, but she had beaten the fear of God into them; that was sure. This, of course, wasn't to mention that an entire section of the fence was now bent out of shape.<p>

She only stopped at the door, though not turning to acknowledge what she had done. "Und by ze vay, I'm Austrian, nicht German." And then she was gone, back inside the building.

Heinkel found it rather hard to concentrate on her classes which followed, but thanked God for her ability to take comprehensive notes almost completely on autopilot. This always seemed to happen, after she lost her temper in such a way. She would lash out, usually with painful consequences for the thing or person which had roused her anger, and then be slightly space-y once she had regained her usual cool, all but emotionless personality. Another good friend of hers, Hagan, whom she had German II and Poetry with, stuck by her side like glue when this happened, making sure that she didn't A) try to kill someone else, or B) walk into a wall. The latter may have seemed slightly laughable and unneeded, but it had happened before, and normally she was grateful to him for it. Unusually, however, she didn't have much patience for him that day.

Again she thanked God, when Poetry class was canceled. They had been planning to use the auditorium, to work on recitations, but were told that the choir needed it, and so the class was simply sent home early. As most had their own cars, and those that didn't had their cell phones with which to arrange a ride, no-one from the administration bothered to notify parents or guardians of this. As such, Heinkel could sneak away.

She needed to have a discussion with a certain someone anyhow, and this would be the perfect time to do that.


	3. Part III

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Accents that will probably have you hating me by the end of this, slight use of German, vulnerable!Heinkel, fatherly!Anderson, horribly characterized Anderson and probably Renaldo (though he doesn't have much of a character to begin with)... I think that's it... Oh, and an unintentionally fucked over representation of both a confessional scene, and the whole priest-parishioner relationship.**

**Disclaimer and warnings for the entire story in the first chapter.**

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><p>Parting ways with Hagan, Heinkel headed for the student parking lot. That morning she had sprinted across the car-riddled, maze-like expanse, but now she simply walked. Well, stalked was more accurate, as she was beginning to regain some of her cool, but also some of her ire along with it. That said, however, she was also regaining her control over her emotions. If she could help it, she wouldn't be letting them run rampant again anytime soon, especially not considering where she was going, and considering that fact that she didn't need her family to hate her even more, for allowing her anger purchase and her lashing out and harming either of her sisters. She slipped her cigarettes from her messenger bag as she walked, doing her best not to crush the only thing that could calm her down right now.<p>

When she reached her car, the blonde tossed her now-much-lighter bag – it was lighter because it only contained her Algebra binder, and her History and German textbooks – into the backseat of her car. Getting in herself, she took a moment between placing her keys in the ignition slot and actually starting her car to withdraw a cigarette, place it between her lips (between her teeth was more like it…), and then stow the pack in her pocket. Even though she really wanted to smoke the damn thing right now, she hated how it smelled in her car, and so she resisted the urge to light it. Starting her car, she backed out of the parking lot and set her path in the opposite direction from home. As she drove to her destination, she gnawed almost furiously at the end of the cigarette; if she wouldn't let herself light it, she would deal with being pissed that way.

With her anger consuming her thoughts, it didn't seem to take long at all to reach where she intended to go. Parking her car, she took a moment to survey the place. It was the only Catholic church in the entire city, and as such, ironically, it was the site of her darker sins. Of course, most wouldn't really consider them "dark" as such, but she did; lying to her parents, thinking horrible thoughts about her family, cursing the heretics who wanted nothing to do with the Church to Hell – and there she went again. Now really wasn't the time for her zealotry, she opined firmly, as she got out of her car and finally lit her cigarette. She knew she shouldn't be smoking as she entered the church, but she really needed the calming influence of the nicotine right now. Due to this need, she smoked her way through both that and a second by the time she had reached the doors of the church.

Lighting herself a third cigarette, Heinkel stepped inside. The foyer was empty, as expected at this time on a week day, and so she was alone and well able to lean against the wall to smoke her way through her current cigarette without feeling like she was being judged even here. A few moments passed in silence, before the sound of footfalls pricked her ears. She thought she knew who it was, but as there were three priests employed here, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure. When said priest came into the foyer, Heinkel's lips quirked for a moment in a smirk. It seemed she had been right. With grey eyes and white hair – what was left of it – the man was old and slightly wizened, but still extremely keen of mind and even a bit robust. She nodded her greeting, turning her head to exhale smoke out the open door just afterwards. Feeling the steel-like gaze upon her, the blonde put her greeting to voice.

"Father Renaldo." Her words were murmured, and she would have spoken more, but he didn't let her.

"Child, I have asked you time and again to not smoke in here." His admonishment was firm but not unkind, his words tinged with his Italian accent, which was much lighter than her own Austrian-German.

What might have been a smile on anyone else tugged at the corners of her mouth for a moment, as she regarded him. Then, though she said nothing in response, she took a last drag on her cigarette, exhaled, and proceeded to crush it underfoot. Straightening up, she threw it away, before returning her gaze to the old priest. She ignored the searing pain in her eyes, as she looked at him over the top of her glasses. This initiated a game of sorts between them, one that only someone who knew them both very well could have spotted the commencement of. They both knew that it was almost intrinsically wrong to share such a thing, but it was continued with anyways. Her question may have been well known by now, to the point that she didn't even need to ask it anymore, but that just wouldn't do, and so she voiced it anyways. After all, no priest was supposed to know any one parishioner so well that their queries didn't even need to be given voice, now were they?

"He ist here, but he istn't hearing confessions, ist he? Perhals he vill make an exception, just zis vonce" Pushing her glazes back up with her first and index fingers, she wondered idly if her accent would have confused anyone who didn't know her well enough to understand it. While she concluded that, yes, it probably would have been, she decidedly put the useless thoughts from her mind. The question she had posed was, in and of itself, just as rhetorical as if one were to ask if the Pope were Catholic, but it needed to be voiced, for the reasons previously delineated. That aside, however, in this demented game of hiding truths, giving things double meaning, and knowing questions without needing to ask them, such things were akin to collateral. And so, when Renaldo demurred his usual response – he would ask, but he couldn't promise anything – she wasn't surprised in the least, and didn't so much bat an eyelash. When she was again left to herself, the blonde made her way to the confessional.

Much had been revealed in this booth of wood and metal over the years. She had first confessed both her sexuality and her desires here, six years ago, when she was eleven. Her twelfth year had seen many a breakdown, following the death of someone she had loved very much, while her thirteenth had seen both her confirmation and her shy murmurs of having had her first kiss. When she was fourteen, it had seen the guilt over her first fight because she had been called names to insult her sexuality and her religion, and the conflicted emotions regarding her ever-so-secret crush on her martial-arts teacher. Over the last two years, the usual fair had become less innocent. Her crush had gone down in flames, she had admitted to hurting herself, and her mentions of fighting had become more and more often. She had confessed to more and more violent tendencies, and less and less guilt over her actions; she had ranted and raved over how her family just didn't understand, and how she hated them so much sometimes; and she had even, if she were feeling particularly in a "fuck the whole God-damned world" mood, she would just sit there and describe in slow, languid, clear detail every time she hurt herself, and how she did it. And one man, the man she considered to be more her father than her biological one, had heard it all.

Lost in thought and memory as she had been, she hadn't noticed when the very Father in question had entered his side of the confessional booth. Coming back to reality when the cloth on the other side of the lattice-work screen was lifted upward and secured in place, Heinkel quickly and almost embarrassedly dropped to her knees on the wooden kneeler which was provided on her side of the screen. As both penitent and confessor performed the Sign of the Cross – "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," – she took a moment to observe the man whom she considered her father. Easily a head taller than herself, the priest in question was also larger in terms of mass, though his was solid muscle. A bit of stubble ran along his jaw, and a scar on his cheek stood out white against his skin, which was a tanned, Mediterranean olive. This, coupled with the glasses perches upon the bridge of his nose, gave him a rugged, warm, fatherly look, all of which she saw in him. His hair was the same dark wheat-blonde as her own, while his eyes were a deep emerald green.

"Forgive me Father, for I haff sinned," she murmured. "Mein last confession vos two weeks ago."

"Wa sae lang, lass?" He questioned, his Scottish brogue lacing his tenor pitch; he had known this girl since she was five – she wasn't one to skip confession.

Heinkel shrugged, knowing her response would fall flat, and yet she spoke anyways, her tone sheepish. "School, homevork, family issues…" She trailed off, almost too ashamed to meet his piercing gaze. With a soft sigh, she removed and pocketed her own glasses, before meeting his gaze once more – sapphire and emerald – and revealing the truth. While it was true that her family had been watching her closely of late, it wasn't because of that that she hadn't been to confession for so long.

"It vos because I knew you vere gone, back to ze Vatican vith Father Renaldo. It's just zat… Confessions to anyone but you, Father Anderson, seem so… So vrong, somehow…" Even if she felt like a little girl again, she admitted the truth anyhow, as she knew it would do her no good to lie or to simply keep silent about it. Aside from that, though, this was supposed to be her safe place, she chastised herself. The one place she could say anything. If she couldn't tell this here, if she couldn't admit things like this to Father Alexander Anderson, then she would truly be alone, and be abel to speak to no-one in no place about anything. "You… Are like a father to me… Far more zan mein own ist or ever hast been." Great, now she felt like crying, damn it all… This was the one aspect she hated about confession: it made her far more emotional than she usually was, and she hated being emotional. That said, however, she knew she could never just stop coming, as that would have been like cutting off one of her own limbs – both impossible, and utterly devastating.

Though he had long suspected that she felt thus, Anderson had wished to hear the words from her own lips. In truth, over the years, he had come to see her as a daughter himself, even more than the few girls he had had a hand in raising at the Ferdinant Luke's Orphanage. He knew it was something he shouldn't feel, he knew it was something she shouldn't feel, but she knew that neither of them would attempt to kill the feeling – at least, never make more than a half-hearted attempt, and never succeed in their endeavors. "Aye, lass, Ah ken whit ye mean." Her brogue may have been slightly rough, but is voice was soft. Silence reigned for a moment.

"Noo, whit did ye come haur tae confess?"

_Back to business, I see, Father…_ "I provoked a group of boys to attack me, und zen I beat zem unconscious, some of zem even receiving broken bones. I entertained lustful zoughts about ozer vomen, I entertain prideful zoughts about meinself, und I said cruel zings to vone of mein few friends." Well, _that_ had been the easy part. Now came the hard one… "Und I…" She attempted to say the words a few different times, but they refused to be said. In the end, she simply unbuttoned the cuffs of both her blazer and her dress shirt. Rolling up the sleeves of both past her elbows, she revealed what shadow and gloom had obscured that morning. Scars ran amuck on both her forearms, riddling the once-unmarred skin until the expression 'sleeve of scars' was put into extreme and sharp light. Some of the scars were old and long healed, while others were not so long healed, and while still others were only within the scab stage of healing. These were not why she had revealed her arms, however. With the pressure from her sleeves removed, the very newest ones – the ones where a blade had met her arms during her German class – began to bleed a bit again.

As she gazed at the blood, her expression the usual mix of disgust and fascination it always was when she looked at the cuts she had made in the aftermath, she missed Anderson's concerned expression. She also missed his leaving his side of the confessional, and his entering of her own. Another thing she didn't seem to realize, was that, by now she was indeed crying; at least, not until the priest in question wiped her tears away gently. Before she could even begin to protest, even if it wouldn't have been very strong, even if she wouldn't have meant it, she was enfolded in strong arms, her own shredded ones held protectively between her body and his chest. For a few moments, she remained stiff within the embrace. She was mentally warring with herself. Heinkel _hated_ appearing weak, to anyone – even to Father Anderson, it wasn't something she was very comfortable with. But, in the end, that was the point. This was _Father Anderson_ – the man she loved a thousand times more than she ever could or ever would love her real father. This was the man who knew her better than _anyone_ else on the face of the Earth; the man who would _never_ hurt her or betray her.

In the end, that was what made her choice, if, in all honesty, it had really been a thing of choosing in the first place. Relaxing with a soft sound, one she would never have said was a whimper either way; she curled into Anderson's chest. Her hands, both red with blood and yet under that almost blue with cold and both near skeletal, were fisted in his cassock. She cried silently, for once not caring about how weak and pitiful she must look, and simply allowing herself to show her emotions in something other than anger and hate for the first time in a very long time. She could feel as Anderson stroked her head, and held her small, fearfully thin frame close 9the fact that it was still a bit wiry didn't really seem to make a difference anymore). She both heard and understood his murmured question, but she couldn't answer it. Not directly, not yet.

"Ah mah child, mah lamb... wa dae ye hurt yerself sae?"

Instead of answering directly – as she already knew she couldn't – she simply buried her face deeper, as if she were trying to wash away her own bitterness and self-hatred, it seemed. As her tears slowly, slowly dried, she murmured what might have been an answer, but what no-on else would have understood, what no-one else could have connected to the question posed.** "**Deine Hände sind groß und warm, Vater." Her eyes fluttered closed then, and she collapsed into a dead faint from combined loss of blood, exhaustion, and hunger. Had Anderson not been holding her already, things would have ended very differently, and much worse at that. As it was, the taller blonde awkwardly levered himself up, before carefully ducking out of the confessional and into the church proper. He didn't want to hurt the young woman he no held bridal-style; well, at least no more than she was already hurting herself. Laying her down in one of the pews, he rested her head on his lap. He thanked God as he did so. No-one else besides Renaldo was there at the moment, and he knew that he was very lucky for that. It wouldn't have been good, after all, if anyone had seen this.

Her answer to his question would probably more than likely have baffled anyone else, he mused, as he fixed her sleeves and replaced her glasses. (He knew she would be in a good deal of pain if she woke up without them.) To Anderson himself, however, it made perfect, if twisted, sense. It both spoke volumes, and harkened back to a time when she had been just as vulnerable outwardly as she was now so emotionally, mentally, and psychologically. It reminded him of the first time they had met, more than ten years ago now. Heinkel had been five at the time, and her Grandmother, God rest the woman's soul, had defied her Mother's wishes about bringing the child here. He had known the old woman well, and so had wished to get to know the granddaughter she loved so dearly.

Heinkel had shied away from all other contact that day (in truth she was still shy, under that cold exterior she had adopted to survive, though she would never admit it to anyone) clinging to her Grandmother for dear life, and often hiding behind the woman, if someone came too close. She had had her glasses and been boyish even then, but she could tell that a sweet girl hid behind those dark, reflective lenses. Even to this day, Anderson couldn't fathom why, but she had allowed him to take her small hand in both of his larger, rougher ones that day. She had looked up at him then, and slowly given him a small smile; when she finally did speak, she had said that his hands were 'big and warm.'

_"__Deine Hände sind__groß und warm__, Pater."_

"_They ur tae protect ye, child."_

Both times, she had responded the same way. Both times, she had called him father. Both times, she had trusted him to look after and guide her. Both times, he had responded the same way, then verbally, now physically. The similarities between both instances were almost staggering, but he could tell what the significance was. Both had marked important times within their relationship. Now, however, their relationship wasn't just as priest and parishioner, no matter how close they had been before. No, now they were much more than that, if the familial pronoun she had used this time had been any indication.

The fact that she had said "father" rather than "Father" was not lost upon the Paladin.

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><p>AN: Please tell me I don't have to explain the difference between the two…

Tell me if you liked/hated/etc and why, please.

Until next time, guys,

~Haruka.


	4. Part IV

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Badly-written fight scenes, glossed over rape, mentions of gore, and so much German/accents you'll all probably be wnating me to shoot myself by the time this is done...**

**Disclaimer and warnings for the entire story can be found in chapter one.**

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><p>By the time Heinkel got home, it was six-thirty. She would have left the church at five, but she had only regained consciousness by that time. She had been allowed to leave only once she had assured Anderson that she was okay, and once he had been allowed to wrap bandages around her forearms. He had attempted to get her to have dinner with him – she suspected that it was just so that he could make sure she was eating at all – and apologized that he couldn't offer her more than the simple fare of a priest, but she had begged off by saying her parents would have conniption fit if she were home any later, not to mention what they would do if they were to find out she had had dinner with a Catholic priest. He had allowed her to leave then, though he was obviously reluctant, telling her he would like to speak with her tomorrow, if she could come. She had agreed to come if possible, and then had booked it home. Of course, she thanked God profusely that she didn't crash on the way, as she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.<p>

She was sure she would be okay – and as soon as she got home, World War Three started. Or, perhaps it was better to call it a Civil War, as it was Austria versus Austria. In any case, however, the first shots were fired as soon as she stepped through the door and entered the house. If the situation had been different, and if she had been anyone else, she might have laughed at the situation, since as far as she knew, Austria had never had a Civil War, unlike quite a few other countries she knew. Of course, being whom she was, and being sent reeling, there wasn't a thing funny she could see about the whole situation.

"Ich bin zu Hause! Leider, dass es so lange gedauert hat, der Verkehr war nichts weniger als Mord." And, in all honesty, it had been; it had taken her twice as long as it normally would have to get home, just because of the traffic.

"Lügen!"

Heinkel stepped back a bit, as if she had been slapped. Her mother had never outright accused her of lying before, and never so forcefully. "Mutter…?" Her question, if not her face, conveyed her shock and confusion. "Was…?" She wanted to know what was going on, but couldn't get the words out. In any event, it seemed her mother wouldn't let her.

"Wenn ich Zeit hatte an diesem Nachmittag, rief ich deiner Schule, um zu sehen ob du in Ordnung waren, da ich deiner Schwester Kommentar gefühlt heute Morgen war aus der Reihe. Ich habe gelernt du würdest nicht mit Ihrem letzten Klasse heute so, wenn ich abgeholt Renee, wartete ich auf du zu Hause zu sein um die gleiche Zeit. Du tat es nicht. Und jetzt, jetzt zeigen du, als ob alles normal ist, aber es ist Lügen, Lügen, alles ist Lügen!" Christine's voice had risen in pitch with every word she uttered, and her large bosom (which was surprisingly well contained within the blouse she wore) heaved with the exertion.

"Also. So! Willst du die Wahrheit sagen jetzt, du kleiner Lügnerin, jetzt, wo deine Lügen heraus sind in der offenen? Oder nein, ich glaube, ich kann erraten." This was a perverse relief; by this time, Heinkel couldn't have spoken even if she had wanted to. Shock held her completely mute, as she gazed at her mother, wide-eyed and still slightly uncomprehending. Usually, her mother left her alone and it was Renee that drove knives into her, but not this time, apparently. "Mal sehen, waren Sie heraus die Berserker in den Straßen, mit diese Punk-Rock-Ausfallenden du nennst Freunde? Trinken und Rauchen nur im Allgemeinen und handeln wie bei den Kriminellen Sie sind? Nein? Na ja, versuchen Sie nicht zu leugnen, dass Sie mit dem Rauchen waren - ich könnte es, sobald Sie zur Tür hereinkam riechen!"

The elder, brunette woman took a deep breath to continue her tirade, but Heinkel didn't even bother to attempt speech. Not only was she still completely speechless, it would just have made things worse. And really, if she could get away with as few wounds as possible, then she counted it a success. "Wenn nicht, dann haben Sie wurden wahrscheinlich einfach nur der Deich Schlampe du bist. Schließlich sind Sie krank Hündinnen für sein Klasse-A Huren bekannt!" Then, sapphire eyes all but glowing with rage zeroed in on Heinkel's chest and what everyone knew was hidden there, under her shirt. Though everyone knew it, however, it was something never discussed that she always wore the cross close to her heart. Never once since she had taken it from a biohazard bag five years ago had it ever left her person.

This, of course, incited another rant. The current topic of the elder woman's ranting rage? Her hatred for her daughter's Catholicism, of course. It was also highlighted by how much she despised her parents and sister for their religion as well (all were Catholics), and how much she loathed Anderson, despite the fact that she had never ever met him. As the raving continued against all those she cared for and all that she stood for, the tall girl could feel herself beginning to tremble. Her shock was long gone now, and only the pure rage flooding her veins kept her from speaking. It was only when her mother's tirade shifted to more mundane and every-day topics – such as the fact that Heinkel was the reason that they were always short on money because she dressed like a boy all the time, and so normal clothing needed to be bought for Renee, among other things – that the blonde simply turned around and walked away. She completely ignored her mother's protesting the fact ("Ich bin nicht fertig mit dir, junge Dame! Komm zurück, gerade jetzt!"), and simply continued on her way to her bedroom. Either Maria or Renee would demand their mother's attention soon enough, and she would be forgotten. That was just as normal as when she was being shouted at that it was all her fault.

All things considered, it took a _supreme_ amount of effort _not_ to slam her bedroom door behind herself.

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><p>Her homework done, (Algebra, German, and History) and her emotions under control once more, the sapphire-eyed blonde could now be found seated on her windowsill. She was currently smoking; since her mother knew, she saw no reason not to satisfy her carving As for the fact that she was seated on her windowsill, well the window in her bedroom had no screen, and since the windows in her house opened out rather than up, she could sit on the inner sill and the outer protrusion of bricks from the facade of the house. As to the why of what she was doing, she had been doing a lot of things with almost suicidal abandon over the past few years, and so sitting there, with her legs dangling in the mid-air of her third-story window was more or less completely normal for her.<p>

Currently, she gazed contemplatively at the moon, which was full that night, as her cigarette hung precariously from her lips, and she wondered what the world looked like without her glasses. Sure, she had very faint memories of it, but the memories were also accompanied by pain, and the first concrete memories she had contained her sight being shielded by the dark lenses. As such, she wondered. They were completely useless thoughts, she knew that very well, but when she was dizzy from hunger, and when she was the only person she knew awake at midnight (her sister and the friends she was having sleep over didn't count), she was willing to entertain them for a brief spell.

When she noted what seemed to be a shadow pass over the moon, she was pulled back into reality – cold reality, at that. Finishing off her cigarette, she dropped it to the bushes below, after stubbing it out on the bricks beside her head. Taking one last glance at the moon – was she hallucinating from hunger, or was the shadow getting bigger? – she pulled herself back into her room, and closed the window behind herself. She quickly locked it, before changing into her pajamas, which were shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. Checking her door to make sure it was securely shut; she got into bed, and then shut the blinds over her window. Removing her glasses, she folded them and placed them on her nightstand. Though she would attempt sleep, she would only get a bit of it

It was just after one o'clock, when she awoke to the sound of screaming. Screaming and _gunshots_, to be specific. She quickly forced her disorientation to recede, as she grabbed her glasses and got out of bed. She wouldn't – couldn't – panic; if she did, then things would go from bad to worse very quickly. Slipping on her glasses, she wrenched open her door and barreled head-long down the hallway. There was a feeling of dread deep within her gut, and for the moment, she wasn't even wondering if it were from hunger; for the moment, she was just begging God that it wasn't what she feared it was.

'_Please, let it be a movie! Please, God let it be nothing more than a video game…!'_ She beseeched the Lord almost frantically as she ran, nearly toppling down the stairs as her vision went in and out of hazy blackness. Luckily, she made it to the bottom of the stairs without falling on her head. Of course, as the feeling of utter terror grew stronger, and something told her that she really wasn't going to like option C. Gripping onto the doorframe at the doorway of the living room, the blonde swung herself around and inside of the room. She was just in time to see – to watch – as the assailant's gun, which had been pressed hard against Renee's temple, was fired. _BANG!_ Heinkel was frozen in indescribable fear, as she watched her younger sister's head explode, blood splattering her face an pajamas. As her scream died inside her throat, held immobile by terror, she looked around and saw what she had never wanted to see, but knew she could never un-see. Her parents', Maria's, and Renee's friends' corpses greeted her gaze, and she knew she would have vomited had there been anything in her stomach to vomit up. The bodies themselves were in various states of wholeness; some had been sliced to pieces, others had had limbs blown off, but all had been riddled with bullets, leaving gaping holes where she knew flesh, muscle, and bone should have been.

Transfixed by horror as she was, Heinkel didn't even notice at the speed at which the assailant – a man of indeterminable age – came at her. She was pinned against the wall before she could blink, any protest she may have made being forced out of her as she felt a few of her ribs crack in the back. Then, in a gleam of moonlight, she suddenly knew what was going on; and yet, she wished she didn't. Vampire. Her family and her sister's friends had been killed because they were human (she took some small, perverse comfort in the fact that they hadn't been bitten), and she was next on this vampire's kill list. Well, after she was raped of course, if the whispered rumors she had been hearing for the past two years held any truth to them. Even if she knew what was going to happen, however, didn't mean that she was prepared for it when it finally did. She barely registered the pain, as her shorts were sliced off, leaving deep, bloody slashes all the way down her thighs, beginning at her hips and ending at her knees.

The same procedure was repeated with her top, leaving bloody gashes down her sides. As all four cuts were long and deep – she had yet to register that they were really just two long ones – she hoped that she would mercifully pass out from blood loss before the real torture began. However, it seemed that mercy wasn't on her side, either, this night, as she felt her legs being forced apart. It felt as if fire were coursing through her veins; as if lave were being poured over her skin – and definitely not in any sort of good way. If she hadn't been able to scream before, when she witnessed her younger sister being murdered on cold blood, now she did scream, as her virginity was ripped from her with no ceremony or regard to anything at all save for the vampire's own perverse amusement and pleasure.

Her screams, however, were quickly cut short by a backhand to her face. This not only knocked off and broke her glasses, but shattered her right cheekbone was well. It seemed she had no desire to incur the vampire's wrath any further. Just as she began to pray for death, to beg silently that she lose consciousness, her salvation came – and in the form of what appeared to be bayonets, at that. Moments later, gold-glowing pages of the Holy Scriptures affixed themselves to the walls. Though this did brighten the room a good deal, the pain from the still bleeding lacerations down the sides of her body drowned out the feeling of the pain from her eyes at the light. When the vampire finally released her, she dropped to the floor in a bloody heap, with a pained groan, but could manage no more in any way of vocalizing anything.

As she watched the battle which ensued, Heinkel couldn't help but wonder why she had never seen it before. She eventually concluded that she hadn't wanted to see it; intelligent as she was, some tiny part of herself had always known, but she had never wanted to acknowledge it. How Father Anderson would never tell her anything at all about his trips to Rome. How neither Alexander nor Renaldo would tell her what they meant, when she overheard or caught them talking about 'Section XIII,' or 'Iscariot.' She had asked once or twice, and when she had been so carefully avoided, she should have opened her eyes to what she refused to see – after all, her own research into either title came up with only what she already knew about Judas. And yet, now she was having her eyes opened the hard way. Father Anderson was obviously a Warrior of the Church, a term which had been used in secret even among the secret, international circles she had access to. If her eyes were telling her right, he possessed regeneration and white magic, and had access to a limitless supply of his blessed bayonets.

Strange, she mused. This didn't freak her out nearly as much as it rightfully should have. Hell, she could even go as far as to say that she didn't find anything strange about it at all. But, of course, she supposed that came from the fact that she had just seen her sister be killed by a vampire and then been raped by that very same vampire. Not much would faze or surprise or freak one out after that, especially in the post-trauma numbness. As the fight began to draw to a close, she attempted to crawl away. She wasn't doing this out of fear, no, but she wanted – irrationally, inexplicably – to get back up to her room. Something told her that, whatever happened now, she would very likely never see it again. When asked about what she was trying to do, however, she answered very differently than she supposed either of them had expected. She blamed that on the fact that her brain currently felt nuttier than a mountain of peanuts.

"Whit ur ye daein', lass?"

Now that he wasn't fighting anymore, she noted, the madness was completely gone from his eyes and his voice. He sounded and appeared, once again, like the man she had always known and come to love as her own father. Neither bothered her as much as it should have.

"Ich Versuch einem bequemen Platz zu bekommen, um zu sterben." She didn't even bother speaking in English. Her brain was so fried that she doubted it could have translated her words, anyways. In any other situation, coming from any other person, the fact that she was looking for a comfortable place to die would probably have been funny.

"Yoo're nae gonnae die, lass." Stubborn as always, it seemed, but she dared to hope, based upon his words. "A' th' sam, Ah'll tak' ye whaur ye want tae gang."

That meant a great deal to her, and hoped he knew it, as it was not within her nature to put such things to voice. She ignored the implications of what she was about to ask – everything was different, again – and put her request to voice anyways. "Mein Schlafzimmer."

Again she was nothing if not completely amazed at how gentle he was (though she knew she shouldn't have been, at this point) when he picked her up, after wrapping her in the robe he usually wore over his cassock. She felt extremely guilty about her having to be carried, and about her drenching her beloved father in her blood, but as he said nothing about it, she simply directed him to her bedroom. It didn't seem to take nearly as long as it had taken for her to exit her room and arrive downstairs; nearly an hour previous, but she ignored this. She knew if she thought too much right now, bad things were bound to happen. Instead, she simply looked around the room which had been hers for as long as she could remember, from where Anderson stood in the doorway. Again, she was acutely aware of the fact that she would probably never see it again., so she attempted to commit it to memory as best she could.

Her bed, only half made due to her hasty exit, was placed against both the left-hand and far walls, under the window. The window where she had been seated previously, now closed, locked, and obscured by the blinds specially made so that they would shut out as much light as was physically possible. Her desk, at the junction between the far and right-hand walls, was scattered with a few pieces of paper and an assortment of pens; her blazer and messenger bag hung on the back of the chair. A dresser-drawer situated against the right-hand wall; books occupied both most of the drawers and most of the surface from which a mirror should have extended upwards. The door to her closet was placed just closer on the right-hand wall then a dresser; opening it would have revealed all her clothes, which were all masculine in nature. Her nightstand, situated closer than the bed against the left-hand wall; a Bible, a coiled rosary, a picture of the current Pope, her clock, and a reading lamp were what it contained. The upper extremities of all the walls contained shelves; here were books, martial-arts trophies, marksmanship awards, and ribbons from show-jumping events. She bid the room good-bye in her mind, and then the two returned back downstairs, avoiding the living room. Anderson quickly took her out into the backyard, and was about to use his Bible to transport them to the church, when her speaking checked her intentions.

"Brennen Sie es, bitte."

He looked down at her questioningly. She didn't look back up at him.

"Tun Sie es, bitte; ich weiß, du kannst. Außerdem," grim humor laced her words, „wissen wir beide, dass die Welt nicht kann nicht herausfinden, was wirklich ist passiert hier heute Abend." She would not repeat herself, but she hoped her point about how the world couldn't find out about this would make him do as she asked.

She didn't watch, as upon her request, her childhood home was burnt to the ground. Though she had asked for it to be done, and because she knew it must be done, she still couldn't bear to watch it. This place held far too many memories, both good and bad, and some were still far to fresh for her to accept thinking about. So focused upon her own inner pain was she, that she didn't get to witness exactly how Father Anderson's teleportation worked. In all honesty, however, she didn't really care at the moment. Father Renaldo – they had appeared in the priests' quarters, behind the church – seemed to care about it very much, though, if his tone was anything to go by.

"Anderson," the old priest berated, "you know the Chief forbid you from using teleportation here! And besides that, what in God's name took you so long? It was just a routine vampire case."

"Aye," there was an unmistakable edge to the Paladin's voice. "It was, if ye ca' chasin' th' creature intae a residential area rootine. Th' thin' hud nearly slaughtered an entire fam'ly by th' time Ah caught up tae it, an' ye ken Ah did whit Ah coods withit alterin' th' general populace 'at somethin' wasnae reit."

"A family of heathens," Renaldo dismissed. "Nothing more. And yet that still doesn't explain either your use of teleportation, or what took you so long."

"Nae a' ay th' fam'ly waur Mormons." He indicated the blonde he held so protectively as he spoke.

"I still don't see what that has to do with – dear God," he broke off, gasping, as he got a good look at the girl's face. Even without her glasses, though very different, she was unmistakable. The shock in his voice was also unmistakable. "Heinkel!"

Again, what might have been called a smile on any other crawled at the corners of her mouth for a moment. She spoke then, saying that Renaldo shouldn't blame Alexander, that it was her fault. She didn't seem to be thinking straight anymore. "Mach dir keine Vorwürfe Vater, es war meine Schuld, immerhin..." Her wince of pain, however, had them focused upon the issue at hand.

With that, Renaldo wordlessly allowed them to pass. Heinkel couldn't read his face, but she wasn't really trying, either at this point. Later, much later, she would take not of her how gaze had been shrewdly appraising – calculating whether she would choose to seek revenge upon the thing that had killed her family, heathens though they had been. She would, again much later, come to see that that moment was when her life truly changed. Over the next years, she would be trained under Renaldo, and even under Anderson himself, when the latter wasn't out on his own missions. That night had set her upon the path to the cold, ruthless and yet manic killer she would become; however, this wasn't something she would take true note of until her next real brush with death.

But for that moment, she needed medical attention and sleep; there would be time enough for Iscariot-related matters in the coming days.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, here's chapter four. If any of you care enough to want to know what Christine's rant was about, shoot me a quick PM or tell me in a review; I really didn't feel like explaining the whole thing… -_-;;

Until next time, guys,

~Haruka.


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